Say What? You have a girlfriend?!?

Aaron is a Saint-- Saint Aaron. He should be recognized by the dioceses. In order to understand why I say that you'd have to live with me for a terrifying twenty-four-hours-per-day-seven-days-per-week-three-hundred-sixty-five/six-days-per-year. And that, my friends, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

I'm not at all spontaneous, I'm rigid, structured, demanding and a bit neurotic. I literally have instructions written out for every possible task on top of having insane rules: You can't write in the checkbook registry in anything but pencil, you have to make the bed a certain way, your keys go in a specific place, the gas gauge can't go below 1/4 tank, there always has to be three hand towels in the kitchen and they are coordinated by season, my coffee cup can only be filled to a certain point or you get "the look", and I must sweep the floor at least once per day. (I could go on and on and on) But, Aaron loves me. Better yet, he is obsessed, smitten and utterly enamoured with me. It sounds awful and conceited, but he LOVES me. Why? I have no idea. He's making up for sins in a past life I suppose.

Decorating for the Christmas season usually involves me trying out each and every decoration in at least 5 or 6 different places before I like where I put it. Aaron, bless his heart, always tries to help and usually ends up following me around so I can "check" the placement of each item with him:

J: "Do you like the nativity there, or in the place I had it before?"
A: "It looks great there, Babe."
J: (Squinting at it) "No, help me move it."

Or sometimes he'll put a decorative Santa on an end-table only to find it missing 5 minutes later because I've moved it to a more aesthetically pleasing area. My definition of him helping usually involves me making him go into the storage area, "bring this downstairs," "bring this upstairs", "look at the mess the glitter made --where's the dust-buster?" I don't know why he bothers sometimes.

Decorating for Christmas 2010 wasn't any better. While we do have amazing decorations a-plenty, it took us about 7 hours to put them all in their place (and we didn't even decorate the tree the same night.) So, as I sat on the floor debating where to move one of my nativity scenes (for the millionth time), a conversation between me and my wonderful husband went something like this:

A: (almost defeatedly grabbing his wallet and cell phone) "I'll be right back, I need to get something out of the truck."
J: (playfully) "Yeah, you need to go outside to call your girlfriend and tell her how awful I am."
A: "Oh, she already knows." (closes front door)

The house phone rings

J: Hello?
A: (in a secretive scheming whisper) "Hey, it's me. You'll never believe what the bitch is making me do tonight!!!"

That was all I needed from him to bring me back to the reality and fun of decorating the house instead of stressing over perfection. I don't know how he does it, or why he does it but, he does it for me. He's a Saint and he knows just how to handle this devil.